I'm Pretty Sure I Love Hating You
by EverythingXBurrito
Summary: Insanity is easy to come by with the Varia. But nothing is considered more outlandish than Xanxus ordering the fourteen year old cloud guardian to go study the Tenth's family. Mainly because said guardian has absolutely no idea what she's doing. BelXOC
1. Chapter 1

I was in an asylum. Again. Staring at the wall, which I was pretty sure had been breathing for the past few hours, in boredom. Three days, three days of lying around pondering the existence of grapples. At one point, I was pretty sure I'd eaten a grape flavored apple, but who could tell? I mean, at one point I was pretty sure I was a panda so there's no reason a magical grape-apple can't exist. Maybe somewhere out there in the wide wide world of sports there's even an apple .

So, why don't I explain me to I? Just for the sake of sounding crazy and incoherent. My name is Me. Or at least I'm pretty sure it is. Honestly, I've been locked up in here for three days dreaming about grapes so I'm a little iffy on the line between reality and fantasy right now. But, to continue, I believe I'm fifteen or fourteen. Or twenty seven. Really, rubber rooms and straight jackets don't do me much good so just go along with the first thing I say and let Me be me. But, I digest! There are truly only a few things you need to know about me. I kill people for a living, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with my best friend, I've been placed in over seventy insane asylums, something I'm extremely proud of, and there is a fifty fifty chance I'm secretly a panda. Oh, and I'm absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, certifiably mad. And I'm pretty sure I don't mean furious, though I'm guessing you've figured that out already. By you, I mean the little elf in my head that's documenting this so studiously. The elf named Mitch.

And that's all there is to know about Me. Me Ci, because I do believe that is my real alias. Oh, I remember now! People call me Meci because I introduce myself and they just think it's one name. Now I can go on to detail what has occurred over the past few days. To save the fingers of my elf from the brutality of typing, I'll make things short. Because Mitch doesn't deserve such cruelty. I was in California working on my latest project and, as it turns out, butterfly knives and switchblades are illegal. And ferrets too, which is just a ban on fun to be honest. I'd undoubtably say that California is the worst state in America. What with their hybrid cars and their constant, smug grins because they think they're saving the earth by not eating meat but really they're just depriving themselves of needed protein. Oh, and then they look at you like you're fucking bat-shit when you try to explain you kill people for a living and you're looking for Enrique. It wasn't like Enrique was a bad supplier. I mean, if you need the shit, he's got it. And, since giant battle robots don't build themselves, I figured at least one smug asshole would be willing to point me in the direction of the Mexican drug lord and not send me to an asylum. Again. Attempted short story abbreviated, I started getting testy on my way to purchase some contraband and the lovely residents of California took issue so I pleaded insane.

And here I sit. Waiting. Dreaming about giant mushrooms and the possibility of a dog-lion, which I could probably create if I had any idea about genetics and that twisty stuff in your blood. My family has enough money for one, I'd guess. Oh yeah, my family. I suppose that's something worth telling. Meci has been the staple of the Varia family for six years. Or, not really the staple as much as the random, unnecessary member forced into the family at a young age. I'm pretty sure that's how things went. Maybe. But the point is I'm waiting for someone, maybe a twenty year old swordsman who vaguely resembles someone twelve times his age or maybe an overbearing fruitbasket who thinks a mohawk is totally hot. Doesn't really matter as long as something gets me out of this room. Rubber walls and that stupid straight jacket thing they clamp over your arms.

"Get the fuck up." a very testy voice called me back from the breaking point of my insanity. The word belonged to a plume of gray hair and a sword; it was either my arch nemesis or some crazy anime character come to life. I laid eyes on the silly little leather skirt of magic my enemy insists on wearing and I was assured of one thing, or at least I was pretty sure I was accurate but my mind was still fucked up from solitary confinement, the man before me was, possibly, Superbi Squalo. But, then again, it might be sensei Hankai Fujimoto from some fantastical manga series about supernatural samurai and random schoolgirls that have no earthly business being in a dojo.

"Beating back the roaring sting of arthritis and barely escaping the clutches of Alzheimer's, ancient swordsman Superbi Squalo comes to the rescue of gorgeous damsel in distress, Meci." I snickered. No matter how much I wanted to be saved, there was no possible way my bestest buddy was getting off without a bit torture. He had this hatred of being referred to as old, probably because he used so much amazing, imported, almond and mint shampoo to make his hair look youthful and sexy but was still constantly mistaken for some musty old guy. I felt the kind and gentle embrace of a blood soaked glove smack across my cheek.

"Voi! Little bitch! Voi! I swear I'll kill you before I die!" Squalo pushed the edge of his sword into my back and forced me forwards in a stumbling hobble. He whispered something, or more spoke in a clear but lightly muffled voice seeing as howling was his normal tone, about me being a 'bucking pass mole'. I shot him the largest, stupidest grin I could plaster upon my swollen cheek and was granted a few more broken capillaries. Ah, Superbi Squalo, he brings out the best in all of us. I will not lie, I adore sharks and all variations of the shark, especially the sharphin, but I absolutely, positively despise the disgusting thing known as Squalo. His stupid 'I won't cut my hair until you're the Vongola boss' promise and his lovely way of screeching every word that comes out of his mouth. I swear Levi's going deaf because of it, not that anyone gives a fuck about Leviathan.

"Well then, you might want to hurry up with that because your expiration date is fast approaching." now this time I was silenced by a full-on punch, the crunch of cartilage and the addition of my blood to the scarlet liquid already on his right glove.

"Save yourself, you little bastard! Voi! I fucking hate you!" the furious Squalo pushed me down on my stomach and stomped out of the rubber room. Would I say I hated that idiot? Of course. But would I say I hated my life? Not a chance! When I managed to free myself from the insanity that had been afflicting my thought, I could not explain how much I adored being Meci. However, it seemed that the joy would soon be sucked from my life by the vacuum known as Xanxus.

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><p><em><strong>Review, my childrens~ Hopefully you enjoyed my little prologue! Thanks for reading!<strong>_

_**~EXB**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, don't be so cold, Sharkie. I mean, you only died of old age an hour ago, there's still some warmth in those ancient bones!" I sniggered, trailing after Squalo the best I could in a straight jacket. Due to the hefty amount of wizard magic in my blood, I'd been able to regain a standing position, but that didn't mean I'd be able to move quickly enough to outrun the police who were surely on their way. I was hoping one of the patrol cars was occupied by both a scrawny white guy and a hilarious black man. I'd watched enough cop movies to know the best banter comes from a combination of the ghetto and the suburbs. At some point I wanted one of them to be thrown into a flash back of their olden days when their girlfriend, and/or baby mama, was killed by some Boston street tough, preferably to be played by Macho Man Randy Savage in the cinema adaption. I'd make movies of I weren't so happy killing people for a living. But there is truly no better feeling than ending a life. The way two eyes stare up at you in begging, questioning, hope. They seem panicked at first, darting about in want and confusion and terror. But at a certain point, they stop. People think it's because they don't have the strength to fight anymore, however it's not true. At a certain point when one's dying, there's a look in the eye that only a truly seasoned killer can see. It's... Acceptance. As if the body finally realizes there is no more hope and allows itself to die. The mind allows itself to shut down and the organs cease to function. It's like the consciousness crosses a threshold. I wonder what would happen if that didn't occur, if that threshold didn't exist.

"Voi! Voi! Voi! Voi! I'm only twenty you little whore! Get that in your head unless you want it chopped off! I'll fucking stab you in the chest if you don't cut it out! You're unbelievable! You fuss and howl and you don't even belong in this family! I swear we'd already have accomplished our goal if not for you and your stupid antics! And it's every fucking day with you! You just don't stop and I swear to God I'll kill you the second Xanxus realizes you're a useless pile of shit!" Squalo roared, using such volume my ears started ringing. Well. That was cold. We'd have to talk about that soon. I'd do some good old fashioned counseling. He came clomping back, cracking the bones of people I presumed to be dead beneath his boots, and grabbed my leg. I was dragged down the hallway.

"Ow, okay! Sharkie, just calm it down! You're at a ten and I need you at a four!" I grumbled. Sharkie did the only respectable thing he could and slammed my skull against the wall, leaving me to drift about in half consciousness. Squalo, of course, ignored me completely. I really disliked that stupid ass shark. He was the worst when I was a kid though... I joined the Varia pretty young, I was about eight and Squalo was in his teens. Or, more like his late forties. At least that was how he looked. He'd begun his 'No hair cutting' stage and I used to hang off his locks. I called him Shaky Sharkie Superbi Squalo. Shaky because you start to tremble when you're older and lose your balance and all and Sharkie because he tends to dislike it when you tell him his name means shark. Of course, Lussuria begged Xanxus to take care of me claiming I'd be the child he could never have. You know, because he likes plowing guys and all that he can never have a child. So he bawled to the boss like an idiot and got punched a few times. And then the worst of the worst occurred. Boss, being the fantastic douche he is, decided it would be fucking hilarious to have Squalo act as my legal guardian. And it was. To explain my cynicism and tendency to be an asshole, I'll tell you I was raised by a man named Superbi Squalo. Well, not so much raised as abused and yelled at on an hourly basis. Ah... Memories. I'm pretty sure they make me black out sometimes. Or is that just the blood filling my skull? Oh well, either way it's nice to sleep after three days of solitary confinement.

XxXxXxXxX

"My little toy," a voice crooned in my ear, just kind enough to hide the insanity anyone who knew who it belonged to had experienced. I yawned, going to rub my eyes but being stopped by the wonderful gift of a straight jacket. Stupid Sharkie, couldn't he be bothered to help a damsel out? I was all chafed and cramped, I'd have to go get more Bengay or Icy Hot or whatever those weird minty smelling ointments that make you feel all sexy are. Sexy? God I really am losing my mind. Ah well, I think Mitch and I both knew it was bound to happen. To be honest, I welcome the decline of my sanity with open arms! No one who kills for a living can actually maintain their sanity. And, if you just let it fly off into the wind, you end up like Belphegor. You can smile all the time and pretend like you don't have eyes and laugh like a little girl without getting a second glance from anyone.

"The only peasant I can bear. A little girl named Meci, ushishishi~!" That same lovely voice echoed through my ears. I decided it was about time to open my tired eyes and see what had happened during my excursion into the mind. There seemed to be a little tray table in front of me and whatever I was sitting in was decently comfortable. These two things along told me nothing about my surroundings, but the disgusting smell of other people gave it away. We were on a plane. But not just any plane. We were flying coach. With other people. Normal people. I flung my head upwards sharply. What kind of idiot was Squalo being that he wouldn't just call the jet over? We Varia have our own jet for 'emergencies', meaning Lussuria uses it to join the mile high club and I bribe the pilot to take me to weird islands in the pacific so I can say I've been to them, and this seemed emergency enough. I mean, Squalo had just taken out a mental hospital and beaten a child so you would think that he'd consider his new position on the most wanted list as decently important. Side note, I bet he's got a kickass name on his poster like 'Silver Demon' or 'Timber Wolf' because we all know America is into naming their criminals fantastic things. Which is a bit weird, am I right? They make killers sound cooler than celebrities.

I'd gotten carried away in thought but my eyes were beginning to adjust now. Just before they popped out of my head. I was being escorted by a policeman, in full uniform with badges clipped to his chest. Fuck. Me. And not literally, for the record. He seemed pretty odd looking though. His face appeared to be quite old- Oh it was Squalo. Yep. He'd killed a policeman and taken the uniform. He'd tucked his thought-to-be-gorgeous, silvery locks in a cute little hat and wrapped himself in a bullet proof jacket. He had even put on the pretty blue slacks and that oddly braided belt I keep seeing cops wearing for some strange reason. I would not lie; Sharkie looked adorable, even despite the weird angle I was staring at him from. My head was in someone's lap. Oh God why? I bet it was some fat drunkard with a boner or something. Better question than why I was there, why hadn't I moved yet? Straight jackets were constricting, but not enough to keep me on a pedophile's lap. I went to wriggle into a sitting position, trying to shimmy up into my seat without touching the girth I could only imagine lying behind me. Then yet another horrible fact dawned on me. Its hand was on my fucking face. Just... Touching my cheek. Nearly massaging it. Only one thought entered my mind. This is how I die.

"Stop touching-" my sharp protest was cut short as I pulled myself upwards. I'd been resting my obviously cracked skull on the lap of my best friend. Remember, in the beginning of this story, when I said I was pretty sure I was in love with my best friend? Remember seeing that when I was telling you all you need to know about Meci? No? I'll give you five seconds to go back and locate it. . . . . . There, see that? Feel better now? Then let's continue, Mitch. Even with all the insanity squishing my brain back then, I wouldn't lie. I was pretty sure I was in love with my best friend. The butter colored locks that cover his eyes that were now being squeezed by a hat similar to Squalo's, his eerily thin body that still managed to remain strong and toned, and his carelessly mad personality. But most of all I love his smile. The teeth that had been bleached so white it could give a blind man perfect vision and then take that sight away from him again just to be cruel. He was the only man is ever met who found a way to dazzle me, for lack of a better word. His madness seemed to click with mine just perfectly to agree with what Lussuria said so often. I attempted to throw my arms around him but only succeeded in looking unendingly stupid and flopping against his chest like a fish. And despite the concerned glares coming at me from all angles, I let out an excited howl,

"Belphegor! Embrace me!" he did as he was asked and clutched the confines of my straight jacket. It was an awkward little display of affection, but not a single fuck was given from either of us. Of course, all those around us were shifting about in their seats nervously. My excitement was stifled by a finger tugging me back into my seat. And, yes, when I say finger I mean a single finger. I'm a wimp, I won't lie.

"Sit down! Voi! Such an idiot..." Squalo sneered.

"You gave me a concussion and let me fall asleep like it was nothing, cut me some slack old timer!" I spat a good wad of saliva into Sharkie's face in fury. Then I felt like an idiot. I waited for the wonderful embrace of pain hit me, wincing in preparation. A moment passed with a surprisingly small amount of physical reply. I opened one eye to see Squalo holding an obviously stolen gun up to my heart and the widely grinning Belphegor aiming a bullet against his temple.

"Don't be silly, Sharkie, only I get to break my toys. Otherwise you have to buy me a new one. Ushishishi~!" he snickered, knowing damn well that there was no way Squalo would pull the trigger. But I knew that as well, Sharkie wouldn't get away with killing me. Plus, it'd be a hassle to slaughter everyone on the plane that had witnessed it. It's hard work being evil. That's why I use so much Bengay. Killing equals cramping.

"Stewardess! Or steward, I can't tell... I want one of those mini vodka bottles!" I called, forcing myself into Squalo's lap so I could ram one of the flight attendants with my shoulder. He shoved me backwards so forcefully I was flung across Belphegor and into the aisle. Despite the wonderful pain filling my brain, I decided upon having a bit of fun,

"Prisoner on the loose!" and just like that we were ejected from the plane.

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><p><em><strong>Thanks to all you folks who subbed and reviewed~ Hopefully you were taken in amazement by how awesome this was, though it still remains to be a prologue of sorts...I'm not boring you with strange antics too much, am I? I just thought having a base would be nice so you know who Meci is and what she does at the Varia and all that shiz before actually getting to the story. Thanks for reading! Oh, and if you don't review I'll cut your lurker head off and feed it to a Russian circus bear. Toodles!<strong>_

_**~EXB**_


	3. Chapter 3

"You're late." the fantastically terrifying man that ruled over me gulped down a mouthful of liquor. Well, he wasn't quite as much of a man as he was a man-shaped booze container. I glanced at Squalo, hoping he would answer the statement before I had to. I was obviously very busy shoveling dinner rolls into my mouth and swallowing whole pats of butter and we all know Xanxus doesn't like being talked to when the other person has their mouthful. Sharkie glared back at me, probably thinking about how much of a pig I was or how much the world had changed since he'd been born and how sour he was about that. I would have said something to defend myself of that lie, but I was far too busy sawing a steak in half so I could start feeling like even more of a caveman.

There was nothing wrong with being hungry after three days of reasonable meals. Eating pudding out of cup instead of a bowl, being allowed to only fill one plate, only having a slice of pizza instead of seven, those mental hospital bastards were trying to starve me to death. Just thinking about it inspired me to start tearing into a bowl of fruit salad. The mohawk bearing, little-Filipino-boy-adoring Lussuria slammed a perfectly manicured fist into my arm. I made a graceful plunge down onto the meticulously chosen red carpeting of the Varia dining room. Xanxus had chosen this certain shade of scarlet due to its ability to match the stains he made during his red wine pass outs.

"Manners matter~!" Lussuria chimed, grabbing my arms and hauling me back into my chair. And as it happened I was just in time to see that Xanxus had taken it upon himself to throw a wineglass at me. Thank little baby Jesus in all his sweet cherub glory it was empty. The trick with knowing how furious our boss is, how much booze he wastes to punish you. If the containers empty, you're have to keep your guard up, a quarter full, get out of the city, half full, get out of the fucking country, full, just end your life and save yourself the trouble.

Alcoholics are fun, huh? Especially extremely dangerous and sociopathic alcoholics! They have no regrets when they drink so much they can't wake up until five at night three days later. He's done that before, I drew a mustache on him. Squalo washed it off because he's a crabby old man who cares way too much about his hair and hates me for being a youthful whippersnapper. I bet you he hates guitar solos and rock music too. That's probably why he never let me listen to any when I was a kid. Probably why he's so old and disgusting, too. Everyone knows three well-done guitar solos add a year to your lifespan. Rock music does equal life.

"I hope you get AIDS..." I groused under my breath. Lussuria watched a lot of Lifetime movies so he'd probably be around for a while, unfortunately. Meci's rules for a longer time on earth: Lifetime movies, infomercials, guitar solos, and pandas. And grapples, which are the secret to abso-fucking-lutely everything. I continued, quietly, snarfing down delicious substances while Squalo explained what had happened. I was expecting another glass to come flying at my youthful flesh, but Xanxus didn't destroy me with his booze rage.

That was concerning. I really shouldn't have wasted the rest of my money buying us new plane tickets. I should have used it to buy myself some body armor or at least a riot shield. But no, I had to go be a nice person and save Squalo's ass. Even after endangering his ass in the first place. However, Meci doesn't give a flying fuck about her legal guardian. No sir! All my fucks are flown straight to Bengay, Belphegor, grape apples, and mechanical mechanisms. Anything else can suck my metaphorical dick. Especially Squalo.

"In my office immediately." Xanxus sneered. I peeked up from my furious eating spree, the remaining half of my steak hanging from between my teeth. He was pointing at me. This meant I was officially, undoubtably, unquestionably, fantastically fucked. I stood from my seat, forcing the rest of my food into my mouth, and went on my way. After grabbing the rest of the dinner rolls, stealing the remainder of the butter, and slipping all of Squalo's food into my bread basket, of course. I was shot many an angry look, but none as seething as Sharkie's.

All his sneers probably require a lot of Bengay, your cheeks would be aching up a storm if you looked vicious half the amount of time he does. His worry lines are going to destroy Tokyo at one point. So many people will be killed beneath his wrinkly flesh, so many innocent Japanese business men slaughtered by a single set of wrinkles. I wonder if Japan is any fun. Not really because I care about Japan in any way shape or form and not because I plan on conquering Japan with a giant robot, but because I'm trying not to realize I'm about to be shot in the throat. And so I focused on cruel stereotypes and wondering if Godzilla was an actual thing.

I made it into The Lair of Xanxus just in time to slay a dragon and save the princess fair. But, in reality, I just sort of slumped into his office, which was more of a bar than an actual place of work, and spat into the many bottles of liquor he kept at the ready around him. And, as everyone called into the man's office was required to do, I poured him a drink before going back to stuffing myself and poking around the room.

There was a mirror placed behind his desk, an extremely organized one by the way, so anyone being killed in front of got to watch themselves die, the sides of the room were covered by collections of every alcohol currently in existence, and the floor was the same red carpet as the dining room, also for the purpose of protecting against embarrassing red wine pass out stains. There were two doors on the sides that lead to large groups of his favorite boozes and a little trap door beneath the carpet in the corner that opened to a panic room. All in all, there was nothing exciting for me to play with or break and later apologize for. So I sat down in the seat in front of his desk and finished off my insane chow down session. For me, incoherent gluttony equals life.

And I stay skinny through it all because I have some crazy disorder that kicks ass! If I don't eat like a fucking madman, I die. But that's okay because I don't ever grow into being the whale I should be. Even though, despite eating the way I do, I still look unhealthily thin and am constantly teetering on the edge of death. But that's the fun! Of course, all of this thought is being brought on by some crazy whim and not the mirror making me study myself meticulously. Because coherence and rational thought equal pain and misfortune in the world of Meci. Side note: that's pronounced Me-chi, not Me-si or Me-key, just to clear up any misconceptions, Mitch.

And now we can continue discussing my appearances, as I'm sure you're just as curious as I am. Honestly, I thought something happened during my asylum stay and that my constant grapple thoughts turned me purple or green or into some sort of oompa loompa. Don't judge, these are crazy times. But never mind that, onward my word steed! Charge into wrathful fictitious battle! As it turns out, I'm exactly the same. I've still got green eyes, I've still got insanely curly red hair, and I still have freckles. I'm still a soulless ginger. Thank the baby Jesus in his plush, cashmere diapers I'm not purple! Baby Jesus be praised! At one point, I will become a black preacher and inspire hundreds to testify. But really I've never been religious; I just love saying baby Jesus.

An hour passed of me just twiddling my thumbs and thinking about baby Jesus. I was beginning to get seriously bored. If only there was a window I could jump out of to make things more exciting. Or at least a few gears to dick around with. I'm good at making things! It's my only talent. Well, that and home wrecking. And I don't mean wrecking balls. I mean affairs, scandals, and the general destroying of families. At about five my parents started sending me on reconnaissance missions.

All in all, I'd say I ruined about two hundred marriages, a hundred and seventy engagements, got thirty children sent to military school, and ended up causing about a hundred murders. Those were the golden days of Meci, spent home wrecking and spying. I refuse to be at a level other than Abe Lincoln honesty right here, I make a great spy. I have spent so many hours crawling through bushes with cameras and sneaking into the backs of cars and just doing general creeping it's not even funny.

"You have a day to pack your things." Xanxus burst into the room and thrust a manila envelope at me. Now I was genuinely concerned. For a few seconds, reality had to come into play. I tore open the package like a kid on Christmas and pulled out the first thing I could. I'm pretty sure it was a plane. I'm pretty sure it was for Japan. And I'm also pretty sure my delightful dinner was wasted on the precious, red carpet.

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><p><em><strong>It has been forever since I last updated this. And don't be all "It hasn't been that long" because you damn well know it has. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this wondrous chapter~ I made the paragraphs shorter in this because I know people bitch about all that... Leave reviews mofos! It's break for me so the more positive feedback the sooner I'll update. Thanks for reading!<strong>_

_**~EXB**_


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